Peaky Blinders Preferences and Images

[ How he looks after you when it gets bad - Tom ]

⚠️ Reader going through a hard time, jealousy, doubts ⚠️

You always said Tommy was a control freak. He always denied it, of course, hating any opinion that strayed from his own self-image. It took a bite of your lip to prevent the comeback of that proving your point. He wouldn't listen to you- he was, after all, a control freak. Maybe it was because of the war, or simply because with a chaotic family like the Shelbys at least one of them had to try and maintain order. You supposed it was because of the horses. Horses needed to be controlled, didn't they? They needed human hands to brush their manes and clear their hooves and make their iron shoes, they needed leather between their teeth to keep them on their path and jockeys had those whips to spur them on. You thought that maybe if the rest of the world were horses, Tommy would have an easier time. Who knows why he even decided to go into all this business and politics when it, at its very heart, was surrounded by people. But he couldn't make an empire from horses. Maybe he could keep this manor and expand the betting shop to keep his family working and wealthy, but he would just be a lord in his manor. Like that Lady Carleton that he fancied.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop a snigger at the thought of your Tommy living in the stables for the rest of his life, knowing that an expression of anything other than complete concentration would get you a stern telling off. Despite the threat, you looked up from your paperwork. Tommy was at the head of the desk, the smoke from his cigarette trailing around his head like a phantom crown and a pensive look on his face as he rested against his hand. The portrait of the black mare stood behind him, giving him the imposing look of a king. Hell, he was a king, wasn't he? And that made you the regent ruler- the conditional monarch. You wondered if he thought of May Carleton sometimes when he looked at you. Or maybe he thought of Greta, or Grace, or Lizzie, or Jessie or, Christ, maybe even Alfie fucking Solomons for all you knew. Lizzie said he used to fuck her face down so he could think of someone else. Maybe you were a business partner in all things, someone transactional and useful. Maybe you were a horse. He told you what to do, didn't he? He guided you like he were stood behind, holding you by the reigns. The king of all he has, even his own partner. Even you. Even the ghosts in his head that he wouldn't talk about. He never talked about much to be honest. Just sat like he did now, all thoughtful and noble. A pretty deceiving face. You wanted to ask him, to bear your heart and let him reassure you. But he wouldn't like that. And Tommy was a control freak.

You got back to your papers, thinking you might as well do something whilst you're here. But the buzzing in your mind didn't stop biting at your thoughts, it didn't stop a tremble as you swooped your pen over the page, and it didn't stop the way your knee bounced under the desk. It was a subtle motion, the kind that was obscured and easily hid. It was something you couldn't stop doing in your nervous state, so it was something that'd have to be secret. Tommy had a plan for today: do all the paperwork, have a little chat about the business, get a drink, and then he'll fuck you. That's what he said he'd do, and Tommy likes to stick to his plans. That bloody control freak. That king of the castle that left you powerless and petty as you couldn't even bounce your knee without feeling some scorn for his stupid bloody petty-

"Stop doing that."

His voice was cold as his eyes, an iciness that made you freeze with your knee mid-bounce.

"Stop what?" You gave a tilt of your head, gauging this out of him. You wanted him to admit it. If you couldn't say it, then he might as well do.

He gave a little huff, the cigarette smoke following the action like a bull breathing from its nostrils.

"Stop bouncing your knee."

How the hell could he tell? Maybe those superstitious lot were right about the Shelbys having something intrinsically magic and devilish about them.

"Why?"

Pettiness wasn't your thing, but here you were. Tommy sighed deeply, sitting back in his seat and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. He thought you were challenging him.

"Cause I asked you to."

Ah yes, the king's orders must be met. Even by you, supposedly his equal. But who gave the regent title? Who shared his power with you?

You looked up, giving your most argumentative look, dropping you pen onto the paper. He flinched, ever so slightly, telling you the ink must have spilt onto the paper. As if these documents weren't just ink on paper anyways.

"Why the fuck do I have to do what you asked?"

He tilted his head to the side now, eyebrows raised in complete shock. In return, you scraped your seat back on the floor so that he could see you and the knee you were bouncing. The buzzing in your mind still continued, but now there was that little sick joy in defying Tommy that helped ease the insecurity.

"If you're going to act like a child-"

He was going to make a long list of threats, you knew it, but you cut him off with a laugh.

"Please, Tom, you're the one whose acting like a child." His lips pursed in the same argumentative way as when you told him he was a control freak. "You're the one who insists on routines and plans and not bouncing my fucking knee!"

"Christ, not this again Y/N." His hand smoothed over his creased face, looking so tired of this. So tired of you.

"Who do you see when you look at me?" You asked, making him stop completely. You saw the cogs in his mind turning as he tried to understand the words you were saying. Despite everything, you were quite proud at your little victory of rendering Thomas Shelby speechless. "Lizzie said you used to see Grace or Greta when you came to her. Who do you see for me, huh?" He was shaking his head, words at the tip of his silver tongue that you wouldn't let spill quite yet. "Cause it ain't me, is it? Otherwise I could do what I damn well pleased, like bounce my fucking knee ! Or spend a day doing what I want, not this fucking paperwork and fuck you like I'm some whore you're paying to fuck someone else!" You stood up from your chair, towering over him as you leaned over the desk. "I won't have it. I won't."

Something in him seemed to shift. Not soften necessarily, just change ever so slightly. Tommy too stood up from his desk taking a few careful strides around the desk until he just in front of you.

"Come here." Being the control freak he was, Tommy was the one that wrapped his arms around you first, pulling you towards his chest. You easily let him, always feeling slightly safe at the way he handled you like this. He smelled like smoke and booze and mint leaves, but you wouldn't trade your place nuzzling your nose against his neck for anything. You never thought of anyone else except Tommy- why couldn't he do the same?

"I think of you, love." He muttered, voice still calm and undisturbed. "I always think of you. At work, at home, at the fucking stables. You're always on my mind."

You were still close to him, hearing his heartbeat and wishing you had the ability to sniff out bullshit like the rest of the Shelbys could.

"I know I'm a bit of a control freak, alright? But I'm yours."

You weren't certain if it was his confession of possession, or the admittance of his neurotic behaviour that made you lean back and look at him with the biggest grin you could muster. Your hands found their way to the side of his jaw, bringing him closer to you.

"All fucking mine."